Chapter 21: The School is a War Zone
Scene 1 – Civil War (With Extra Hormones)
When I arrived at school Monday morning, I knew something was wrong.
Not “forgot-my-homework” wrong.
Not even “accidentally-declared-myself-Yakuza-boss” wrong.
No.
This was “someone-might-be-selling-live-ammo-in-the-cafeteria” wrong.
The courtyard looked like a post-apocalyptic drama had cast a bunch of overcaffeinated high schoolers. Students were gathered in tribes. Literal tribes. With banners. I saw a flag that had my face on it—but it was crudely spray-painted with devil horns and a mustache. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply afraid.
Tetsuya appeared beside me like a sleep-deprived guardian angel. He was wearing sunglasses indoors and sipping straight from a convenience store energy drink like it was fine wine.
“Boss,” he said without looking at me. “You might wanna turn around.”
I turned.
Behind me, Sakura and Akari were standing ten feet apart—staring each other down like duelists in an old samurai movie. The only thing missing was a gust of wind and a flute solo.
Sakura’s arms were crossed, her expression colder than a Siberian winter.
Akari was smiling the smile of someone who’d hidden landmines in your locker.
“Oh no,” I muttered. “Oh no no no no—”
“I saw him first,” Akari declared. “Back in middle school. That means I have dibs.”
“You didn’t even like him in middle school,” Sakura fired back. “You used to call him ‘Kenji the Shrimp’!”
“That was affectionate,” Akari said sweetly. “Like how you call a cat ‘dumb little gremlin’ because you love it.”
I tried to back away slowly, but Tetsuya held me in place.
“They’ll see weakness,” he whispered. “Like sharks.”
“You’re not helping!” I hissed.
From across the courtyard, Reina appeared like a storm cloud made of pure judgment.
Her arms were full of folders, her ponytail bouncing like a weaponized metronome of disapproval. She stomped toward me with the energy of a prosecutor who’d just caught a tax evader mid-vacation.
“Kenji,” she barked, “I take my eyes off you for one week—ONE!—and now the school looks like it’s auditioning for Game of Thrones: Budget Edition?!”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
“I CAN’T CONTROL ANY OF THIS.”
Reina’s eye twitched.
Tetsuya coughed. “Technically, he’s not wrong.”
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE CLASS PRESIDENT!”
“She impeached me.”
“You can’t impeach someone who was never voted in!”
“Apparently you can if your fan club holds a referendum,” I said. “There were banners.”
Reina looked like she was going to rupture a blood vessel.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, Takashi strolled by.
Smiling.
Smiling.
“Looks like someone’s got their hands full,” he said with the smug calm of a man who had definitely rigged the metaphorical fire alarm.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Not as much as you’re going to hate first period,” he said. “Rumor’s spreading.”
“What rumor?” Reina snapped.
But Takashi was already gone, disappearing into the crowd like the smug little chaos goblin he was.
Tetsuya checked his phone and frowned.
“Uh, boss? You might wanna see this…”
He turned his screen to show a student forum. A thread was blowing up.
Subject: KENJI IS A FAKE?!
User123: “My cousin’s friend said the real Ryuji is coming back to reclaim his place.”
UserBanana: “Wait, so our boss is a decoy? I knew his handwriting was too neat.”
UserYandereQueen: “Does this mean the wedding’s off?? ??????”
I stared at the screen.
Then at the courtyard.
Then at my own hands like I was expecting them to dissolve into soap bubbles.
“I am going to die,” I muttered. “This is it. The end. They’re going to string me up like a pi?ata and beat me with honor codes.”
Tetsuya patted my shoulder.
“On the bright side,” he said, “at least your popularity rating’s still high.”
“I don’t want to be popular!”
Reina crossed her arms. “Well, good news: you might not be for long.”
And that’s when I noticed it.
The stares.
Everywhere I looked, students were watching me differently.
Not with fear.
Not with awe.
With doubt.
And in high school? Doubt is the first step to open rebellion.
Oh no.
I was going to die.
Worse—I was going to get replaced.
By my twin brother.
Who I hadn’t seen since kindergarten.
And who apparently decided now was the perfect time to stage a hostile takeover of my life.
Typical.
Scene 2 – The Principal Has Left the Building (Emotionally)
If the courtyard was a war zone, the teachers’ lounge was a bunker filled with exhausted survivors running on coffee and denial.
I peeked inside between third and fourth period—mostly because someone dared me to, and partially because I was looking for snacks—and immediately regretted it.
Ms. Tanaka was clutching a stress ball so hard it looked like it owed her money. Mr. Fujimoto was staring at a half-erased whiteboard like it had personally betrayed him. Someone was openly crying into a bento.
The moment they saw me, the room fell silent.
I smiled. Weakly.
“Hi.”
Twelve teachers stared like I’d walked in holding a chainsaw.
Ms. Tanaka stood up.
“We need to talk,” she said, her voice trembling like a violin string about to snap.
“About...?” I asked, already sweating.
“The unauthorized underground student gambling ring. The fight between Akari and Sakura in the library. The… incident with the robotics club building a surveillance drone named ‘KenjiBot.’ And now this—” she pointed out the window.
I followed her gaze.
Someone had spray-painted THE REAL BOSS IS COMING across the gym wall in neon pink.
There were glitter accents.
“This isn’t my fault,” I blurted. “I don’t even know who has access to glitter paint!”
Mr. Fujimoto muttered something about retirement and fetal positions.
Just then, the intercom crackled to life.
“Kenji Sakamoto to the front office. Immediately.”
Oh no.
Never good.
The last time I got called to the office, I left with four new club sponsorships, a bodyguard, and a sworn enemy in the school cafeteria manager.
“Go,” Ms. Tanaka sighed. “Before the principal throws a chair.”
I shuffled out, passing a pair of students arguing about whether KenjiBot was legally allowed to run for student council. Spoiler: it wasn’t. But I was too emotionally fragile to fight that battle.
When I reached the front office, I knocked like a man on death row tapping out his final message in Morse code.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Enter,” came the voice of doom.
I stepped inside.
Principal Nakagawa was sitting at her desk, fingers steepled, eyes bloodshot, and framed by the flickering lights of a dying fluorescent bulb. She looked like a woman who had made a lot of poor career decisions.
“You,” she said. “Again.”
“Hi,” I said, somehow managing to make it sound like a crime.
“We have reports,” she continued, “of factions. Of civil unrest. Of a student-organized black market in the basement?”
“Technically it’s more of a... gray market,” I offered.
She closed her eyes.
“Kenji. When we took you off probation, I had hope. Hope. That maybe this year wouldn’t end in international headlines. And yet…”
A piece of ceiling tile crumbled softly in the background. Very symbolic.
“You know what I think?” she said, leaning in. “I think you’re hiding something.”
I gulped. “That’s—uh—vague.”
She stood up.
“Something big.”
I was about to start crying, or maybe fake a seizure, when someone else entered the office.
And everything froze.
Genzo Sakamoto.
My father.
Yakuza boss.
Amateur orchid gardener.
Professional destroyer of my peace.
He nodded politely at the principal, who immediately began sweating like she’d run a marathon in a sauna.
“Apologies for the intrusion,” he said, voice like butter over a knife made of implied consequences. “I thought I’d check in on my son. It seems his school life has become... eventful.”
I turned to the principal with pleading eyes.
Please. Pretend I’m a normal student. Pretend you didn’t just accuse me of running an illegal empire under your nose.
But no.
She stood. Bowed. Deeply.
“O-of course, sir. Your son is... a bright spot in our school.”
Bright spot?! I WAS JUST ACCUSED OF STARTING A BLACK MARKET.
“Excellent,” Genzo said, smiling like a man who knew exactly what game he was playing.
And I?
I was the pawn.
With a target on my back.
Scene 3 – Whispers in the Halls, Shadows in the Light
There are few things more terrifying than being escorted down a school hallway by your terrifying Yakuza father while students part like you’re royalty… or death.
I walked half a step behind Genzo, mostly because I didn’t want to get in his way. Or exist.
Students pressed themselves against the lockers. Some saluted. Saluted. Others dropped into deep bows. One guy actually threw himself out a window. (Okay, not really—but he did duck behind a vending machine and whisper, “The end is nigh.”)
“I think you’ve made quite the impression,” Genzo murmured.
“I didn’t mean to!” I hissed. “I’ve been trying to not be noticed.”
Genzo smiled that tiny, smug smile that made me want to hurl my textbooks and flee to Uruguay.
“I see,” he said mildly. “So the banners? The chanting? The highly choreographed courtyard sword duel?”
“That was not my idea! Sakura and Akari started that on their own! And why do they both know swordplay?!”
He said nothing.
Because there was nothing to say.
We passed a bulletin board someone had updated to read:
WELCOME BACK, TRUE HEIR.
Underneath it was a very convincing Photoshop of my face… getting X’ed out with a giant red marker.
I stopped.
“Okay,” I whispered, “this is bad. This is... coup-level bad.”
Genzo paused beside me. He studied the image thoughtfully.
“Someone’s challenging your position,” he said calmly.
“I don’t have a position!”
“Clearly, someone disagrees.”
He resumed walking, leaving me in existential ruin.
I staggered after him just as Takashi emerged from around the corner, biting into a melon pan and watching the scene unfold like it was his favorite soap opera.
“Rough day?” he asked, tone absolutely delighted.
“You’re behind this, aren’t you?”
“Not all of it,” he said. “Some of it’s organic. Some of it’s beautifully cultivated chaos.”
I lunged.
He sidestepped easily and vanished down the hall, still chewing.
Genzo watched him go, then turned to me. “That boy. He’s dangerous.”
“You think?!”
Genzo didn’t respond. Instead, he looked past me toward the end of the hallway.
His eyes narrowed.
I turned too—slowly—and saw what he was staring at.
A man. Mid-thirties maybe. Standing at the far end of the hall like he was waiting for something. Or someone. He wore a teacher’s badge, but the way he stood? Too confident. Too still. Like a statue that could snap your neck if it wanted to.
I shivered.
“New teacher?” I asked.
Genzo tilted his head. “I doubt it.”
We walked on, but I kept glancing over my shoulder.
And the man?
Never blinked.
By lunch, the rumors had spread like wildfire in a dry forest full of gossip-loving arsonists.
“Kenji’s a fake.”
“The real heir is coming.”
“I heard Kenji's just a body double trained in Argentina.”
“I heard he’s actually a cyborg built by the government.”
“The real boss is his twin brother who’s been in hiding for years.”
That last one?
Too specific.
Too real.
And from the way Reina looked at me during lunch—eyebrows furrowed, eyes sharp—I knew she’d heard it too.
I tried to eat my rice ball.
It tasted like fear.
Scene 4 – The Civil War (Love Edition)
If there was one sacred place left in the school—a sanctuary untouched by gossip, violence, or bizarre political upheaval—it used to be the rooftop.
Used to be.
Because when I opened the door during lunch hoping for a moment to myself, I was greeted by—
“You’re late,” Sakura said flatly.
I blinked. “Late for what?”
Akari appeared from behind the maintenance shed. “The meeting, obviously.”
“What meeting?!”
“The one where we finally decide who your heart belongs to,” Sakura said.
“Oh no,” I breathed. “Oh no no no—”
“I brought snacks,” Akari added, holding up a heart-shaped bento box. “And also a PowerPoint.”
“You made a PowerPoint?!”
Sakura glared. “We said no visual aids.”
“You said that. I believe in preparation.”
I backed toward the exit like a man facing down a pair of hungry tigers. “I’m just gonna—go jump into traffic real quick.”
“Sit,” they said in perfect unison.
I sat.
Because I wanted to live.
Akari pulled out a portable projector. Sakura brought out… a chart. An actual laminated chart labeled “Kenji’s Emotional Reactions: A Scientific Breakdown.”
“I hate everything,” I muttered.
But they were already off and running.
Akari’s presentation was titled Why Kenji and I Are Basically Soulmates: A Case Study in Destiny. It included:
- Photos of us from middle school.
- A list of “accidental touches that definitely meant something.”
- A slow-motion video of me catching a falling pencil for her in third year, complete with romantic music overlay.
Sakura countered with:
- A cross-referenced timeline of our “shared trauma” (mostly school disasters).
- Testimonies from people who claimed they saw me “look longingly” at her during roll call.
- And a pie chart showing 62% of students “ship us.”
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
Instead, I sat in stunned horror as two highly intelligent, emotionally unstable girls debated me like I was the final prize on a reality show called Love Explosion: School Edition.
And then Reina showed up.
“Why is there a projector on the roof?” she asked.
Akari smiled. “Oh, you’re just in time for the rebuttals.”
“I’m not in this argument!”
“You are now!” Sakura snapped. “You’ve been giving him extra snacks lately!”
“That’s because he forgets to eat!”
“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Akari said.
“IT’S BECAUSE HE’S AN IDIOT.”
“I AM RIGHT HERE,” I yelled.
All three of them turned on me.
Akari narrowed her eyes. “So? Who do you choose?”
“I didn’t know there was going to be a choosing ceremony!”
Sakura stepped forward. “Well, now there is.”
“I—I choose… PE CLASS. Because that’s where I’m supposed to be. Right now. Immediately. Goodbye.”
I bolted.
Full sprint.
Didn’t even look back.
Took the stairs three at a time, passed Tetsuya (who high-fived me mid-run), and didn’t stop until I was face-down in the dirt behind the gym.
My heart was doing parkour.
My lungs were filing a formal complaint.
And my brain? My brain was curled in a fetal position whispering, “Why is this my life?”
And then, because the universe loves irony, my phone buzzed with a new message.
From an unknown number.
“They’re not even fighting for the real you. How sad.”
Attached: a picture of me, on the rooftop, looking deeply confused and panic-stricken.
Taken from a rooftop across the street.
I sat up slowly.
Looked around.
Eyes in every shadow.
Every window.
“...Oh come on.”
Scene 5 – Cracks in the Throne
After the rooftop disaster, I thought maybe—just maybe—the rest of the day would pass without incident.
I was wrong.
So wrong it hurt.
First came the cold shoulders.
Not from Reina (she was still yelling), or Akari (who was planning a sequel PowerPoint), or even Sakura (who’d probably filed paperwork to rename the school “Sakura Kenji Academy”).
No.
It was my crew.
My loyal, terrifying, slightly-too-invested entourage of delinquents.
When I walked into homeroom, they didn’t cheer. No dramatic head-nods. No smuggled melon bread in a silk napkin.
Just awkward glances and murmured whispers.
I sat at my desk like I was wearing a neon sign that read “EXPOSED FRAUD: ASK ME HOW!”
Tetsuya leaned over. “We’ve got a problem.”
“No kidding.”
“No, another problem.”
I groaned into my textbook. “Is it a rival gang?”
“Not exactly…”
He slid a note onto my desk.
It was folded in half, neatly creased.
Too neatly.
I unfolded it.
Nice life you’ve built. Shame if someone took it back.
–R
I stared at the single, jagged letter.
R.
“Is this…?”
“Yeah,” Tetsuya muttered. “It’s him.”
My heart did a triple backflip.
The real Ryuji.
The twin brother I hadn’t seen since we were kids. The one everyone thought was dead. Or traveling. Or possibly working for MI6 depending on which cafeteria rumor you believed.
He was here.
He was watching.
And from the look of that rooftop photo? He wasn’t just watching—he was planning.
I looked around the classroom. Everyone was acting normal. Too normal. Takashi was typing something into his laptop with that smug little curve to his mouth.
“Where did this come from?” I asked.
“Your locker. I found it stuck inside the vent. No fingerprints. No scent. Like a ghost.”
“You smelled it?”
“Look, I take my job seriously.”
I dropped the note and stared at the ceiling.
“I am so dead.”
“You’re only dead if we don’t act fast,” Tetsuya said. “We need to reinforce your image. Keep the students loyal. Get ahead of the rumors.”
“How?”
“Easy. Declare a school-wide holiday. Ice cream and karaoke.”
“That’s bribery.”
“It’s also effective.”
Before I could respond, I heard a smack.
A sharp one.
I turned.
Akari was standing over a desk, having just slammed down a new flier.
THE KENJI x AKARI WEDDING IS CANCELLED
LONG LIVE THE TRUE HEIR.
Sakura stood up across the room.
“I knew that flier wasn’t from me.”
“Wait—you didn’t make it?” I blurted.
“No. I make professional fliers.”
They glared at each other, then at me.
I slowly sank behind my desk.
“Maybe I’ll just fake my death,” I mumbled. “Start over as a llama farmer in Peru.”
“Too late,” Takashi said, not looking up. “The game’s already in motion.”
I turned. “What does that mean?!”
But he just smiled.
Which was worse than if he’d pulled a knife.
Then the classroom door creaked open.
Everyone turned.
A man in a suit and glasses stepped inside.
He wore a substitute teacher’s badge.
But his eyes?
Not teacher eyes.
Not even adult eyes.
Predator eyes.
And for a second—just a second—I could’ve sworn I saw him mouth something.
“Soon.”
Scene 6 – The Whisper Network Collapses
By final period, I had lost the ability to tell what was real and what was a panic-induced hallucination.
Which is a great mindset for a pop quiz.
“Name the year of the Boshin War,” Ms. Tanaka said from the front of the room.
“1877,” I said automatically.
She squinted at me. “Are you guessing again?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just… hyper-aware of military history because I think I’m about to be overthrown.”
She didn’t ask any follow-ups.
Instead, she nodded slowly and moved on like that made perfect sense.
Everywhere I looked, students were whispering. Not the usual gossipy whispering either—strategic whispering. Organized whispering.
That’s when it hit me.
They weren’t just talking about me.
They were planning.
By the time the bell rang, I was already halfway out the door, trying to vanish before someone asked me to sign another love confession or explain why my “regime” hadn’t fixed the vending machine corruption yet.
But Reina was waiting.
Arms crossed. Foot tapping. Eyes sharp.
“You,” she said, “are going to explain what’s going on.”
“I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Then guess,” she snapped.
“I might be impersonating a Yakuza heir because my twin brother disappeared and people assumed I was him and I didn’t correct anyone and now I’m caught in a rapidly escalating web of lies, betrayal, and hormonal chaos.”
There was a pause.
A long one.
“…Wow,” she said.
“I was joking,” I said immediately.
“No, you weren’t.”
“I was!”
“You blink when you lie. You just blinked twelve times.”
“That’s how I breathe!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Something’s off. Even for you.”
And then—bam.
A locker exploded open nearby, showering papers across the hallway. A firecracker clattered out.
“WHO DID THAT?!” Reina yelled.
A kid ran by screaming “VIVA LA REVOLUCIóN!” before tripping over his own shoelaces and sliding face-first into a recycling bin.
“Okay,” I wheezed, “maybe this is a little bit my fault.”
Reina dragged me by the collar toward the student council office like a bounty hunter.
“You’re going to tell me everything. Starting with this whole ‘true heir’ thing.”
“I don’t know anything! Honest!”
We turned the corner—
And froze.
Someone had defaced the student council bulletin board.
At first glance, it looked like the usual graffiti.
But when we got closer…
It was a photocopy of an old class photo.
A primary school picture.
Two boys.
Identical.
One circled in red ink.
The caption underneath:
“How long can he fake it?”
Reina turned to me slowly.
“You’ve got ten seconds.”
I tried to laugh.
It sounded like a dying squirrel.
“Kenji…” she said.
I bolted.
Again.
Because I am nothing if not consistent.
I heard her chasing after me.
I also heard someone else watching.
Somewhere nearby.
A figure leaning against the stairwell railing.
Arms crossed.
Face half in shadow.
Smiling.